


I Promise You A Heart You'd Promise To Keep

by A_Kid_Named_Hiro



Series: Tonight [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Kid_Named_Hiro/pseuds/A_Kid_Named_Hiro
Summary: Prompt:Character gets a magical protection tattoo(selected byTuli-chanfromAll of the Prompts).





	I Promise You A Heart You'd Promise To Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Character gets a magical protection tattoo_ (selected by **[Tuli-chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuliharja/pseuds/Tuliharja)** from **[All of the Prompts](https://alloftheprompts.tumblr.com/post/150774916545/alloftheprompts-anonymous-said-to)** ).

The world is still. The air, quiet. 

Madara exhales. His breath mists before him in the cold, rivaling the smoke that rises up from his cigarette.

He sits atop the hood of his brother's piece of shit Corolla, staring at the mark on the open, ungloved palm of his left hand. Pale blue upon paler, dry skin.

 _It looks like a spider,_ Madara thinks. _Has_ always thought since he was six. 

He looks at the mark and thinks of Tobirama. 

He can feel Tobirama watching him.

Madara looks to his left, toward the cemetery he's been parked in front of for the last half hour. 

There Tobirama stands, in his black trench coat, his black shirt, his black slacks and black shoes. Lithic, like a god rising from a sea of gravestones. 

Tobirama, hair and skin like frost beneath gelid moonlight, as if he were carved from the finest marble. His eyes that speak of blood and death, ever sharp and watchful.

Madara shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. 

He wraps his jacket tighter around himself. Draws nicotine into his lungs, a futile attempt at warmth. His gaze is once again drawn to the mark upon his skin.

A birthmark. A tattoo. A brand. It could be many things. 

A six-legged spider beneath a disconnected circle. 

Two heads of the Devil's pitchfork in opposing directions, connected by a sphere, overlaid by a broken halo.

Izuna once said it looked like an hourglass with a hole in the middle. 

A road map, perhaps.

Too many possibilities. Too many things to guess at. Madara has always preferred to think of it as a spider, its symmetrical blue legs aligned with his third and fourth fingers, and the crevice between them. 

Tobirama has never deigned to explain it. He doesn't talk much. Madara has gotten used to it, these large bouts of silence, Tobirama flitting in and out of his life in his own time. 

There has been but one constant. 

Tobirama always appears when Madara is in danger.

His first memory of it has always been Tobirama's strength. 

He remembers moments, fragmented and whole. 

The summer of his seventh year. His feet hitting the asphalt. The loud blare of a horn, the deafening screech of tires. From the direction of the sidewalk, his sister's panicked scream. A firm grip on the back of his neck. His feet lifting off the ground. 

Then, standing upon the sidewalk, his sister's arms around him, suffocating. Tears on her face, pressed against his cheek. He hadn't understood why she'd been so afraid. He'd only wanted to chase the lizard making its way to the other side of the street. 

And Tobirama. Looking at him, stern-gazed and stonefaced. He had warned Madara to not be so careless with his life, in a voice that rumbled deep like thunder. A voice that no one else heard. And he had left, disappearing like he'd never been there at all. 

But Tobirama has _always_ been there. 

Visible and audible to Madara alone. 

Madara refuses to believe that Tobirama is dead. But he is not quite alive. Sometimes, Madara wonders if Tobirama is Death himself. And how amusingly ironic it is, that Death saves lives. 

Well. _One_ life.

He had taken to getting himself into trouble, just so he could see Tobirama again. And Tobirama had _known._

Madara remembers his rage. The ice in his voice. His face that was storm-dark. He had never seen Tobirama so angry.

And Madara realized then, that Tobirama _could_ leave. The mark was no contract. It did not bind him. Tobirama could leave if or when he chose and Madara could not bear the thought of it. 

So he had stopped endangering himself on purpose. And Tobirama stayed. 

Somedays, like now, he'd show up even when Madara was at no risk of losing his life.

Madara does not comprehend why his existence matters to Tobirama, only that it _does._

He looks down. Ash falls from his neglected cigarette, litters the hood of his brother's car. Izuna would kill him later, Madara knows. For sneaking out past curfew. For stealing his car. For driving unsupervised, without his learner's permit. For getting ash and handprints and scuff marks all over the hood. Izuna has always had a strange obsession with this clunker.

Madara wonders if Tobirama would save him from Izuna's wrath. He barks a laugh.

"What amuses you?" Tobirama's voice, quiet like the rest of him. 

Madara hadn't heard him move, hadn't realized he'd left the company of gravestones and dead leaves. It does not surprise him. Tobirama has always moved like a ghost, like a predator. Silent, even when he's right _there._

Madara throws his cigarette to the ground. He looks at Tobirama, standing before him like a somber shadow. "When my brother tries to kill me later, would you kick his ass?"

A smile. The rarest of things. Madara delights in each moment he brings a smile to Tobirama's face, cherishes them like a hard-won prize, like the most valuable of treasures. 

"I would always keep you from harm," Tobirama answers simply. 

The weight of his words — his _truth_ — does not go unnoticed. Madara knows that _always_ means _all lives._ Not only _this_ one, but all that came before, and all that will come after. 

How strange, to be so fatalistically bound. 

He stares at his palm. Fingers the blue lines, suddenly terrified. He can feel Tobirama's gaze on him, intent. Madara doesn't have to look to know that Tobirama always stares at him as if he's the only thing worth noticing. 

He swallows. "What if I lose this mark? What happens if it disappears?"

"Then it disappears," Tobirama says, matter-of-fact. "And I will still be here."

Fingers beneath his chin. Madara looks up and meets Tobirama's crimson gaze. They are so close, barely a breath between them. 

Tobirama, before him, leaning over. 

Tobirama, fingers trailing the curve of Madara's heated cheek.

Tobirama, who's kissing him. 

Madara gasps against Tobirama's lips, his tongue that's sliding in. Tobirama cups his face as if he were something precious. Madara's fingers find their home in Tobirama's hair.

Tobirama kisses him gently, unhurried. It makes heat curl deep in Madara's belly, warmth spreading through him like air rushing into his barren lungs, like blood filling his vacuous veins.

They kiss for what feels like hours. Madara has never been kissed before, has nothing to compare it to, but he knows he'll never find a better kisser than Tobirama.

When Tobirama pulls back, Madara follows, lips chasing lips. The next kiss falls, not upon his mouth, but in his hair. He finds himself in Tobirama's arms. Face pressed to Tobirama's chest. 

Madara listens for a heartbeat. He doesn't find one.

He presses closer, inhales the crisp, clean scent of Tobirama. 

Tobirama always smells like glass. Like air and midnight and snow upon earth.

He always makes Madara feel warm.

"We should return," Tobirama says against Madara's hair. His arms are still around his frame. He does not move. 

The contradiction between his words and actions makes Madara smile. "Later," he says, clinging to Tobirama, equal parts stubborn and lazy and too damn comfortable. 

Later, he knows, they would leave. They would return home, and Izuna would yell and try to strangle him and Madara would act contrite and make promises he doesn't intend to keep. He cannot help it, for he is fifteen and willful, and rebellion runs strong within his blood.

But for now, he is safe.

"Stay," Madara says. 

And Tobirama does.


End file.
